Personification Life IC IX - [Semi Open]

[Cerillium]

With all the injured being taken care of, Kale walked back into the building. She walked slowly. It was hard to endure everything. She felt like crying at this point, but she held back the tears. Why were these terrible things happening today? She hoped everyone turned out okay. She walked back to the lobby, to Rudolf.

"So... about the dining room. Can I still use it?" she said, slower than usual,"Is there some paper for me to sign?"

Rudolf passed Kale a cup of herbal tea. "Yes," he said, momentarily breaking from his chipper German banter. "You don't have to sign any papers, Miss Kale."

The cultist's brow furrowed in concern. Insane days like this were fairly common, although not to this degree of aftermath, and older denizens had grown accustomed to them. The newer people had probably never experienced anything like this before. Kale had been pulled from her own world and thrust into the middle of Bielefeld on one of those days that truly were "a series of unfortunate events." He sighed.

"Miss Kale, not every day is this rough. I promise. If you ever feel overwhelmed, just shout down a drain. You might need to shout loudly if water's running someplace, but a cultist will usually turn up to lend a hand or shoulder or ear. This is Bielefeld and you're a Resident of the Building. You're family now. All these people are part of that family. When your day lacks sunshine and flowers, you can always turn to someone here. They might be full of fertilizer and worms, but even shit nourishes plants."

He winked at her and settled back into his chair.

[Tiltjuice]

"Dora," Dia said initially, and then ground out to explain further, if her name wasn't recognized. "The redhead who thinks she's untouchable." The mix of white snow and churned-up brown mud and red blood left a nauseating-looking slurry, but he ignored that as he glanced across to Deuce.

---

Chrys rubbed her forehead again as she tried to change her frame of reference. Too many things were happening, and she felt like her faith was being tested.

"Do you need to go right away?"

That was a good place to start. Something simple.

[Torsiedelle]

Torii entered her room, and the familiar mess of scattered clothes and bags, rifles stacked against the wall, and her dusty tables and bed. She had to get ready fast, before meeting up in the kitchen...it was the kitchen, right? She tossed her ripped shirt into the corner for later, same with everything else, and washed up for a few minutes. The hot water reinvigorated her, and a quick cup of coffee felt nice.

She also dug around in one of the cabinets to find some old pills, to keep her really awake. She had to get dressed, too, and for gaurd duty! Luckily, her fatigues were still there, and they weren't too dirty. She threw on the pants, and put the top away in her pack, and put on a tank top for comfort. Also in her pack were a bedroll, a few small ammo boxes, and some food packs. She filled her canteen up and clipped it onto her hip, and threw it over her shoulder. Then, she dove into the corner that she stored all of her unused stuff in. There were lots of empty and old ammo cases from a few months back, which she placed into the hall, as well as a few rifles and pistols with ammo, and a few pillows, which she tied into a big comforter. She wished they had sandbags...maybe they would have furniture from the kitchen to use?

She began to move her supplies down the hall, a little at a time, feet by feet.

......

"Hmm? Wait for me? I was waiting for Miss Thompson.", Katya said to Luce."Yes, Miss Thompson, so this is your younger sister? How...interesting."

[Cerillium]

The sun dipped below the ocean and lights winked on all over Bielefeld. A dog barked in the distance. Someone hauled a box of empty bottles to the curb. A pair of lovers strolled by the Building, fingers interlocked as they murmured future dreams to each other. It was a serene night. Not so inside the Building. The cultists had indeed gone on strike. There was no one to man the portals. Contrary to the popular belief that Klaus was being a stubborn shit over Torii's words, the plan was by design and per the request of a well-dressed Businessman in a finely tailored suit. There was a wager and Klaus loved betting. All at once, without preamble or warning or even so much as a tiny Beware: Weird Things Crossing sign, the Building laughed. There really wasn't a better way to describe the jovial noise bursting through every nook and cranny. Every last door, drawer and cabinet flung open and, with maddening suddenness, every last character dropped unconscious and was sucked into the portals within. Gone also were the teens' weapons collection. Nothing remained in the lobby except the usually pamphlets and a few of Giovenith's soggy paper birds. Silence reigned inside the building. The full moon shone through the clouds and bathed the town in silvery light. The dog stopped barking. The lovers returned to their home. The cuckoo popped out of the clock eight times, much as he did every hour, with the cultists’ field report interwoven into the warbled two-tone notes. The problem was that the person occupying the bed wasn’t a cultist and had no idea what on earth the little wooden bird was trying to convey. Yes, he knew the game mechanics behind it; they didn’t apply to him. At first he thought he’d imagined it. He was lying in bed, fast asleep and trying to shrug off a lucid dream involving the pain-in-the-ass accounting department manager. He was fond of the Indian except on the second and last Tuesdays of every month. The second Tuesday was around the bend and, although he was under budget, there were a few discrepancies involve- Wait. I don’t have a cuckoo clock. He sat up and found himself in a room he’d only imagined previously. The soft white sheets pooled around his legs. A pair of Minerva’s panties hung on the bed post. Prehistoric sunlight was streaming through the window and he could just see the heads of some long-extinct creatures as the herd wandered past the back garden fence. It was Ogoti’s dimension. “Wa? How happened?” he breathed, momentarily forgetting proper English as he clambered out of bed and tripped over one of Klaus’ boots. Bare feet padded across the floor. He flung the bedroom door open to find Trice (that’s pronounced TREE-chey) shoveling Cheerios into her face. Her eyes were half closed due to her normal morning sugar low. “Hey! Hey!! “ He frantically waved and her and then proceeded to babble at her in gravely Japanese. The tiny Italian, as usual, grunted at him and continued chewing her cereal like some insipid cow. Trice (that’s pronounced TREE-chey, in case you missed it the first time around) finally turned soulful brown eyes on him and nearly spit out her mouthful of food. “Ren, you’re naked.” She’d overlooked the odd apartment, the funny furniture, the fact that the table was completely different and the lighting off, but she’d zoned in on that embarrassing aspect. Her observation spurred him into action. He turned and hastened back to the bedroom to raid Klaus’ closet for the outfit Minerva had purchased for him last year. Jeans, a polo and no shoes other than a pair of combat boots. It dawned on his as he was washing his face that this was a RP world that he, as OP and primary god, controlled. A wry smile parted his lips. He became the first Japanese man in the history of his entire people to attempt to jump down a drain to seek the tunnels Between. Ren emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, clothed and holding a washrag to his forehead; he’d brained himself on the bathroom sink. “You’re not Klaus,” Trice quipped as she washed her bowl. “You phase by this?” “Phased, and no. I discovered it during my 4 AM breakfast. I’ve had my moment of panic and I’ve been waiting for you to get out of bed. Do you suppose anyone else is here?” “How so casual?” “Because the only other option is to panic,” she sighed. “As it is, I don’t have to go to work, I don’t have to log into NS and do Minty things, I don’t have to feed your kid, and I’m pretty sure I won’t spend the day trying to catch up with RP posts. Niiiiice. Very nice. I’m going to walk down to Chaos and have some coffee later. Maybe I’ll go hug Gio’s giraffe statue. I might even be bold enough to poke my nose into Swith’s lair. Or not. I’d probably die. Oh! We should go knock on apartment doors to see if anyone else woke up in the game. Maybe. I wanna go see if Tilt’s here. I bet he’s wearing a laundry bag over his head. Unless he hasn’t woken up yet, and then I’m going to pounce on him. But first I need a pineapple.” She said this all very quickly, clipping her words like a typical Pittsburgher. Ren rubbed his eyes and wished himself back in his own house. It didn’t happen, of course. “We need to figure this out and find a way home.” A glance at Klaus' pocket watch told him that it was coming on evening in the normal game dimension upstairs. They'd need to leave the Chaos pocket dimension if they were to locate anyone. They were an unlikely pair as they climbed the stairs and entered the lobby. A quick glance at the front doors revealed that it was shortly after nightfall; there was a full moon high above. The pair shrugged and continued onward. Trice was a tiny woman in her early-twenties and, at only 4’10, she barely came up to Ren’s chest. He outweighed her by a hundred pounds, although he wasn’t fat. She was simply that damn (and annoyingly) small. Her short, light auburn hair was tussled and she wore brown-framed eyeglasses. She had taken the liberty of stopping by Naomi’s apartment to raid some of Swith’s old clothing (being the only character her actual size) and was now sporting jeans, boots, a black teeshirt and a lavender pullover which clashed with her hair. She’d tucked her meds, snacks and some of Naomi’s knitting stuff in one of Ceril’s black bags, and was now happily chomping on a peeled orange. Ren towered over her at 6’2”, his height a gift from his father’s genetic mix. He was pushing mid-thirties and his close-cropped hair was already silvering on the sides. In all other regards, he was Asian. “Not speaking if others here,” he groused. “Don’t be an antisocial fuckwhistle, Ren Angus. People know you have shitty Engrish,” she growled as she crossed the lobby which, to her, looked like the interior of a proper English manor house. (To him it was as sleek and modern as his mother’s apartment in Japan.) Trice rang the front desk bell. “Go get behind the counter and pretend you’re Rudolf,” she urged him. “Get bent,” he quipped but it was just normal banter between them. No harm, no foul. He complied anyway just to appease her. He picked up a copy of The Underworld Times and starred at gibberish on the front page. “Can’t read it,” Trice snickered. “I haven’t written it yet, and besides… it’s in some demon-esk language. Or Hindi. Maybe Hindi. Say, I wonder if Night’s here. Maybe he’s trapped in Elfen High. That would suck, you know. It’s way more dangerous there than here.” She rang the bell again and shouted out to see if anyone else had woken up in their character’s beds. Which, of course, everyone who is participating in this adventure would find that they had. They’d need to rummage for clothing as well, else wear whatever they slept in. There were no phones, no music players, no other electronic devices. They carried with them whatever they’d slept in, although some would have awoken to find any necessary medications tucked in bed with them. Vital info in OOC thread

[Morlodania]

James stirred in his bed, restlessly. He wasn't having a good dream, as any observer, which there were none, would have been able to tell. Soon, though, he fell from the bed, landing face-first on the cold metal floor. Jolted awake by this, he looked around, utterly confused. Well, shit... I don't think I'm supposed to be here at all... He slowly stood, rather annoyed by the fact that Jorgen's bed lacked a side rail. Fucking nightmares... He sighed and checked the room, and his person. Surely enough, he was in what he had fallen asleep in the previous night, jeans and a t-shirt, as he was far too lazy to change. His pockets were empty, save his wallet, itself empty minus ID and a debit card with a near-zero balance, and a couple of pens. He walked around the room, searching for his jacket, although he didn't find it. Greatly annoyed, he checked Jorgen's drawers, since he and Jorgen were the exact same size. He did find a jacket, and threw it on, as well as a pair of shoes. Did I have him leave a pistol behind... No... Dammit... He sighed again, and threw the hood up on the jacket. This was likely to be a rather annoying day. Slowly making his way downstairs, he headed to the lobby, and wished he had some sort of food. He entered the lobby, silently, as normal for him, to see Trice and Ren. Trice was much shorter than himself, meanwhile Ren was just two inches taller. He waved to the two, walking over to them. "Odd morning, isn't it?"

[The BranRiech]

It was a while after his normal wakeup time (5:55 in the morning) because of the lack of a phone, and when he finally did awaken, he looked around the odd surroundings. Gone was his PC, gone was his beloved Chromebook (No checking NS), and there was no blue towel hanging on the door for him. The greasy hair hanging down to his shoulders looked horrendous.

Realizing that this must be a dream, and that it seemed to be about PL this time, he decided to go and take a shower.

But . . .

This all felt too real to be fake.

Either way, he managed to take a shower without realizing the truth. But as he was getting dressed (The only pair of jeans that Bran owned, and a T-shirt that Char!Bran had but never wore)

"Wait." His low-bass softly spoke. "This . . . This is real."

He bolted, scrambling up the stairs of the Fallout shelter, and fumbling with the controls for a bit. He'd never imagined what the controls actually looked like, so it took some examples of button-mashing, but he eventually got it, and he stumbled out into the lobby.

[The Carlisle]

Remmy slowly opened her eyes. She still felt tired as she never slept well. She rubbed her eyes, getting the sand out. She couldn't see as she was nearsighted. She grasped and looked around, finding her glasses on a bedside table. It was strange. It didn't feel like her room. She put on her glasses, finally able to see clearly, and froze. This wasn't her room at all. It was cleaner, brighter, and had a bigger bed than her room. "Is this Kale's room. It looks like i- no..." she thought, "Am I?" She pinched herself, wincing from the pain. This was real. She kept herself calm, taking it all in. She got up and planted her feet on the ground. She danced as the floor was cold. She hated cold floors. She looked at herself.

Remmy was 5'4" in height, 135 lbs in weight. She had long, messy brown hair. Her face was smooth and fair, but sometimes had a pimple here or there as acne was still kicking her ass. Her body was slender. She had long arms, small hips, large thighs. Her breast size was around a C. She wore cute round glasses which she had to push up often. Currently she was wearing her normal pajamas, Smurfs pajama pants and shirt. The Pajama pants were black and had several images of Lazy Smurf all over it. The shirt was white and had an image of Lazy Smurf on the front with the word "LAZY" printed over it.

She was in her normal bedroom gear. "Well, there has to be a wardrobe with some clothes," she said. She then realized and face palmed. "OH! Right! This is Kale's room! There are no clothes!" she exclaimed. It looked like she had to go around in her PJ's. She was walking to the kitchen when she heard the bell. "A bell?" she thought, "I guess I'll go check it out." She walked to the door and exited the apartment.

She walked down to the lobby, noticing some people were there. "It's not only me," she thought to herself. She walked up to the group, curious on what was happening. Another man spoke up about this morning. "Yeah. I don't remember my bed being a queen size," she said, giggling at her quip.

[Swith Witherward]

Trice didn't recognize the man but she knew most of the old hands and thus she assumed he was one of the newer players. That's what she hoped, anyway.

"Hello," she smiled at him. "I'm Autrice. Um, Swith Witherward? Just call me Trice. This is Cer. Well, as everyone knows him. Ren, actually, although, ironically, I call him Cer at home, too. How on earth did we-"

An untidy mop of hair... Trice's bane... heralded Bran's arrival. She clapped her hands and darted across the lobby, bopping up and down a bit as she hugged the tall teen. "Muffin!"

She slipped her hand into his and lead him over to Ren and James. "It's Bran," she pointed out the obvious. "But that still doesn't explain how we all ended up here. Have either of you seen anyone else around?"

Speak of the devil... or a fellow player... a new person had just reached the lobby. "Hello. Er, I'm thinking you're one of the new PL players? Jesus god, how in the fuck are we all turning up here?"

[Cerillium]

Ren ran his hand over his face, sighing once more at the fennec's eternal hyperactive state. She had only two modes: revved up or near-comatose.

"I'll take stab at this," he interjected before Trice talked them all to death. "Very few females in PL; we know what most look like. You must be Kale's handler?" His voice was low and gravely, and the heavy Japanese accent turned simple English words into elongated, deformed things.

He nodded to Bran and came around the desk to shake James' hand. "My guess for you would be bad. Mono, Morlo, Roco or Spike?"

[ApertureScienceInc]

He awoke in Arthur's Apartment, or rather Stephen's apartment. This was clearly not home, this was much larger and did not feel like his bed. He rushed to the nearest window, no endless desert in sight. 'Very odd, where am I? More importantly, how did I get here?' he thought and looked for the bathroom. The reflection was the same as always, black hair that refused to stay down, the birthmark next to his right eye, still 5' 7" feet tall and 115 lbs, a skin tone that would pass for Hispanic or Indian (he never cared that he didn't know), and dark brown eyes. He was still himself, and the reflection still behaved as expected. He spat out his retainer and placed it on the sink. "Infinite multiverse with every possibility happened, happening, or will happen. The odds are 100% that this would occur. Although, following the same reasoning, it is more probable that I've finally snapped and am wandering about in my mind." he muttered to his reflection and looked down on his green sweatshirt and pajama pants. Knowing he couldn't go out like this, he combed his hair into a part and brushed his teeth. To dress he found an orange polo shirt and jeans in his size in Stephen's closet. He collected his glasses from the nightstand and looked outside once more, it was the city he expected, but it unnerved him. After putting on his sneakers he began to look around, if he was where he thought he was, there should be some interesting things to find. A five in Bielefeld currency tucked into the couch cushions confirmed his suspicions. He found the lab-coat on the hat rack and put it on. 'Now a name...or should I just use my initials again? Maybe, Kirk Allen will do.' he thought as he kept snooping around the room, regretting that he wrote that only Fortu had a laser-spanner. Where was the last place he wrote the portal gun? His memory failed him once more, as it always did. He could never remember a thing to save his life. Then a thought struck, 'What are the odds that I'm not the only one here?" he said out loud. Carefully he went over to the door and opened it a crack. His eyes scanned the hall, alert to the slightest disturbance.

[Monfrox]

There was a bed. A small bed in the corner of the room, but it's owner was gone. The room was a mess, and stunk of vodka. The person under the sheets groaned. "Ohhhh...." They rolled out of the bed and hit the floor. "Ow, damn it! Fuck..." They sat up and rubbed their eyes. "I knew trying to stay up and no-life Ace Combat 4 was a bad idea. What time is it?" The person who had been stuck inside Flint's room, wasn't a morning person. Or evening person, either. They sat up and let the blanket fall off. A head of short, dark brown/almost black hair was present on the head of a 19 year old youngster with braces. They wore a black zip-up hoodie, a black baseball cap with the National Emergency Services Academy emblem on the front, a t-shirt with Pink Floyd on it, a pair of slightly worn jeans, a water-proof sports watch, a black RWBY slapband with Blake's Emblem on either side of the logo, and a black paracord bracelet.

Not much was known about them, but they had an interesting set of qualities. A stubbornness that rivaled and sometimes even bested the average British person, a mind too far into the gutter and somewhat gone for their own good, a heart that forgave most everything and beat for more than those that were close, an integrity that dictated who they were in the dark, and the mouth of a well-educated sailor. They sat up and dusted off. "Man, what the fuck happened last night..." The bell ringing caught their ear. "Wait a sec...aren't I in....aawwwww fuckin' hell." They checked their pocket to find that while they had managed to take out both their wallet and cellphone, but their small Buck pocket knife was slim enough to mistake for already out of pocket when they went to sleep. They slowly opened the door and walked to the lobby with their hand in their right pocket on the small knife to calm them. They crept up and noticed the lobby occupied, but were able to pick out somewhat familiar faces. They dreaded the contact, but steeled and went to face the music. "What in the unholy fuck is going on?" Asked a young man as he walked up to the group.

[Giovenith]

Siiiiiiiigh...

It was Saturday. She could roll back over and sleep some more. The boys were supposed to have been dropped off by their dad this morning, but some miracle of fucking wonders, they weren't running about and screaming like idiotic animals. Either they weren't here yet, or Mama had taken them some place, like the cafe or Jump Zone. Maybe they weren't coming at all today. Yeah right, if only. But if things were silent now, it meant they were coming back eventually, so now would be a good time to get up and do the things she wanted without interruption. Make food without them begging for it, listen to her music, go check on NationStates. Not that she couldn't do those things when they were home either, but it was so much better doing them when they weren't, as was with most things.

She stretched out, cracked her arms, rubbed her eyes, and slowly opened them, expecting to the white walls of her messy shithole of a room. Instead, Serina was stunned out of her drowsiness by the PURPLE AND PINKNESS of the room that certainly was not her own. It was the room she'd found a picture of on Facebook once, the room she'd given Giovenith.

Oh, she was still dreaming. Yeah, no problem, she'd realized she was dreaming and commanded herself awake before. Time to wake up now.

No. Nothing happened.

Wake up, she wanted to do shit.

Nothing.

Serina's heart sped up and the blood drained from her face, and she was sure that would wake her, as sheer fear had woken her up in the past as well. No. No. No. No. No. Nononononononononononono WHAT? She flung out her arms with a few loud swears, throwing off the fleece blanket like it was acid, and scrambled off the long mattress onto the white carpet floor.

"Oh my god," she yelled aloud, forgetting all proper etiquette as her head whipped around the room frantically, her long, black-brown, positively Puerto Rican curls getting all in her face and mouth as she did. She was still dressed in her old jeans, fluffy socks, and yellow t-shirt with Fluttershy's face superimposed on it. The back had the pony's wings and cutie mark, wearing it made her happy. Not so much right now. "Fucking shit! FUCKING SHIT!!"

Where was she? Where had she been yesterday? Had she gone somewhere yesterday and was just forgetting it? No, no, she'd gone to bed at home, AT HOME. HER HOME. HER ROOM. THIS WAS NOT HER FUCKING HOME IN HER FUCKING ROOM THIS WAS GIO'S ROOM HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT. WHAT WHAT WHAT.

This was impossible. Gio didn't exist. Bielefeld didn't exist. Well, technically Bielefeld in Germany- Well, technically not if you asked- THIS WAS NOT FUCKING POSSIBLE.

She must have been kidnapped. Yes, that was it. By some psychotic freak reading her roleplays! It wasn't impossible, she'd seen some pretty crazy shit on all the crime documentaries she'd seen on Dateline, 20/20, and the ID channel. That meant she was probably far from home and some crazy, lonely, sociopath was going to try and brainwash into being SOMETHING. Who knows what he'd done while she was out. SHE KNEW IT'D HAPPEN SOMEDAY. Well not today, motherfucker! Motherfucker picked up the wrong bitch. Serina had to keep that mentality, so as to bludgeon the hell out of him and escape. She'd played out this scenario before, now she just had to be calm and make it so. A little afraid of what she might find if she started looking through "Giovenith"'s stuff, Serina went for the long silver lamp in the corner of the room, unplugging it and wrapping the cord around her arm. Yeah, she could smash someone up with this, it had lightbulbs after all, lightbulbs had glass. Most of all, act NUTS. Like Mama's plan whenever they watched Criminal Minds together, out-crazy the crazy, and the crazy would just be too scared. Or something. Yeah. Shit.

Slowly, very slowly so it wouldn't creak and alert anyone, Serina cracked open the door and took a look out into the hall. Looked like in PL. Sick bastard really had his work cut out for him, didn't it? Must be a fantasy-type torture. Get out. Find exit, get out, run to neighbor or police. D.A.R.E. finally coming in handy. She kept her back to the wall and slowly creeped along, honestly petrified, but running on paranoia from all the horrible things she'd seen on television about kidnappings.

Eventually she found herself crouched down low on the bottom step, looking around at what was also a replica of the lobby. Maaaaan, he even got the LOBBY? Dammit, he must be a RICH maniac. Fuck, then she'd never be found alive!

[The Carlisle]

"I was hoping you would be telling us why we are all here," Remmy said to Trice. The japanese man spoke to her. She could piece together the words. She was always good with accents. "Oh. Yeah I'm her... handler," she said, "How'd you guess? The PJs tip you off?"

[New Aksarben]

Jacob tossed and turned in his unfamiliar bed, like normal. he never seemed to stay still while sleeping, and now was no exception. He would always end up in a different place on his bed after a night of sleep and invariably his blanket would be thrown off by the movement. But besides that he was sleeping soundly and deeply, like normal. he'd wake up when he was good and ready and not a moment before. Luckily that time was now.

With a yawn, his large form stirred, and threw off his blankets with kicks and no small amount of flailing. There was really no dignified form to his waking up rituals. Almost rolling out of bed, and thinking this was his own room still, he plodded along the floor towards the door, eyes still half closed. He headed for where he was thinking the bathroom would be after opening up the door to the bedroom, only to run right into a wall face first and fall onto his rear.

".....The hell....?" is muttered, as Jacob gets back onto his feet. Now fully awake, he realizes that his surroundings are now that if the Three Tails' apartment. He blinks in confusion and spins around, also realizing it had been Jacob's (the character) room that he had just left. At least he slept in his own clothes though. which were a pair of gray sweatpants with black vertical stripes on either side, and a loose purple T-shirt a size or two too big but still comfortable, despite his large(being tall, around 6" even, and overweight by a good margin) size overall.

"O-okay? this is weird...." Jacob mumbled as he started for the door of the apartment with the intent to see who else was here. 'The lobby might be a good place to start...' Jacob thought, adjusting his dark maroon colored, square glasses on his face to make sure this was truly real as he padded on bare feet through the hall and into the elevator, tapping the button for the lobby.

[Cerillium]

"I was hoping you would be telling us why we are all here," Remmy said to Trice. The japanese man spoke to her. She could piece together the words. She was always good with accents. "Oh. Yeah I'm her... handler," she said, "How'd you guess? The PJs tip you off?"

Ren raised an eyebrow. "Only three females I know of. Gio, Swith and possibly you. Everyone else is male."

He smiled at Monfrox. They'd chatted on the IRC numerous times. Ol' Mon had some brazen stories to tell about his hijinks back in high school. The tall Asian chuckled and waved the young man over.

It was possible that more and more would come out of the woodwork. He still hadn't been able to come up with a plausible reason for anyone to be here at all. The absence of characters seemed unsettling. More so, the complete lack of ties to the real world caused him some concern. Who was minding Morgan? What if they were stuck here indefinitely?

[Swith Witherward]

There was a bed. A small bed in the corner of the room, but it's owner was gone. The room was a mess, and stunk of vodka. The person under the sheets groaned. "Ohhhh...." They rolled out of the bed and hit the floor. "Ow, damn it! Fuck..." They sat up and rubbed their eyes. "I knew trying to stay up and no-life Ace Combat 4 was a bad idea. What time is it?" The person who had been stuck inside Flint's room, wasn't a morning person. Or evening person, either. They sat up and let the blanket fall off. A head of short, dark brown/almost black hair was present on the head of a 19 year old youngster with braces. They wore a black zip-up hoodie, a black baseball cap with the National Emergency Services Academy emblem on the front, a t-shirt with Pink Floyd on it, a pair of slightly worn jeans, a water-proof sports watch, a black RWBY slapband with Blake's Emblem on either side of the logo, and a black paracord bracelet.

Not much was known about them, but they had an interesting set of qualities. A stubbornness that rivaled and sometimes even bested the average British person, a mind too far into the gutter and somewhat gone for their own good, a heart that forgave most everything and beat for more than those that were close, an integrity that dictated who they were in the dark, and the mouth of a well-educated sailor. They sat up and dusted off. "Man, what the fuck happened last night..." The bell ringing caught their ear. "Wait a sec...aren't I in....aawwwww fuckin' hell." They checked their pocket to find that while they had managed to take out both their wallet and cellphone, but their small Buck pocket knife was slim enough to mistake for already out of pocket when they went to sleep. They slowly opened the door and walked to the lobby with their hand in their right pocket on the small knife to calm them. They crept up and noticed the lobby occupied, but were able to pick out somewhat familiar faces. They dreaded the contact, but steeled and went to face the music. "What in the unholy fuck is going on?" Asked a young man as he walked up to the group.

The near-deafening squeal most likely echoed all the way up to Stephen's Apartment. Trice didn't need to recognize the face. Who else would wear that sort of sweatshirt and carry around a knife like some haphazard wanderer from the Zone.

"MONFROX!"

Trice let go of Bran and found a new person to hug. To be fair, she would have hugged James and Remmy only she still wasn't certain if they were players or figments of a collective imagination. Also, it's fair to point out that she, in part, earned the nickname 'hummingbird' due to her annoying habit of trying to be ten places at once when excited.

She made a concentrated effort to act her age, however. There was no sense in annoying the living fuck out of everyone. Her enthusiasm wasn't appreciated by most, but it surely was better than her caustic and cynical side. Trice cleared her throat and shrugged for Remmy's benefit. "We're not sure. We woke up here. Downstairs, in the quarters we use for Minerva and Klaus. Did you wake up in Kale's room?"

[The Carlisle]

"Wow that few. Thought there would be a bit more," she said, rubbing the back of her head. She looked at Trice. "Yeah, I woke up in Kale's room. Very clean. No dirty clothes at all. Well, no clothes in general. It's the reason why I'm still in my PJ's." She giggled a bit.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

A grey-haired Indian man suddenly found himself very surprised and very annoyed when he was suddenly covered by blankets and awake inside a different room from his own. For one, there was an Ugandan flag hanging on the wall, and it vaguely resembled a student dorm room. An Elfen High dorm room.

Oh Jesus Christ, was he in Elfen High? That would be unpleasant. Mind, he could go outside and start roaring about how he was the God of this realm, but he doubted that would perfectly work. The Indian man rubbed his hands on his temples, massaging them. He found himself in his grey business suit, his usual attire. He looked at the mirror, making sure the suit didn't have creases. He adjusted his burgundy tie slightly, aligning it with the rest of his attire.

He reached for his mobile, ready to text Raj or Leonard about his current situation and whether they could please send him a lift to try and figure out how he got here. Then realisation hit him as he realised his phone wasn't there. He wasn't in Elfen High, was he? He was in Personification Life. Oh. Oh boy.

He went into the adjacent bathroom in Sachin's dorm to wash his face with water, drying it off with a nearby towel. After these pleasantries were done, he calmly opened his door, looking outside. Yes, this was Personification Life. Elfen High would likely just have some sort of wooden hallway rather than all this fancy decoration.

He looked around, looking for anyone he might recognise, but realised he really had never cared what these people did or looked like in real life. Khan's view of most people extended as far as "How are these people important to me in particular?" It was an attitude he had developed in Dharavi.

He walked toward the first people he saw, hearing one of them scream "MONFROX!" Ah. So PL.

"Sorry," asked the Indian man in his Received Pronunciation accent (which had always made him sound oddly formal, especially to Americans). "Precisely what the fuck's going on? And who are you all?" he waved his finger around vaguely at all of them, including them in his "you all". He didn't bother to introduce himself, he figured everyone would recognise the one Indian.

[Monfrox]

"What the fuck, over." Mon asked as he was suddenly seized by an almost 5' tall woman. He, himself, was an even 6 feet. Taller than both is sister and mother. His father was slightly taller than he was, probably about the same as Ren. He looked to the others after taking in his surroundings. His mind still hadn't completely processed what was going on, and the 'little hamster on the wheel' inside his head was about to give up trying to power this process any longer. He noticed Bran and Ren's faces and recognized them most immediately. "Well...this went Charlie Foxtrot fast." He chuckled. The next thing that caught his attention was the next person singing the chorus of 'what the fuck is going on'. "Join the club. Not many of us are sure either. At least, I'm not." He yawned, still tired after not getting enough sleep by his own damn fault.

[Swith Witherward]

"Wow that few. Thought there would be a bit more," she said, rubbing the back of her head. She looked at Trice. "Yeah, I woke up in Kale's room. Very clean. No dirty clothes at all. Well, no clothes in general. It's the reason why I'm still in my PJ's." She giggled a bit.

"Yeah, that's the downside of writing a character that prefers to go naked," Trice giggled. Her laughter was a low, warm purr. Trice's voice belonged on a larger person, and was quite contrary to her diminutive size. She'd inherited it from her mother; her father often referred to it as a "whiskey alto". Yet it was a voice many of the players were used to. She'd done a few YouTube videos for them.

"I'm wondering how many others are lurking or just waking up and-oh-my-god-it's-Night!" Who else could turn the air blue with such refined poise?

Trice found herself conflicted. It was Night yet Night looked imposing in his suit. She strove to keep him in "NS" category rather than "those cranky Indians at work" category.

She hemmed and hawed over some appropriate way to greet him and settled on an amalgamation of all ideas at once. "Namaste. I owe you a post in EH. HI!" And with that, she tossed aside the preconceived "surly coworker" label and hugged him.

[Erucia]

He hadn't dreamed that night, he was too tired: the last two weeks had been enough to do that to him. Sleep brought solace and comfort, away from the worries about schoolwork and projects and Personification Life. Perhaps he should get to posting there soon? Well, as soon as the carnival ended and he could bring Ray out again. In the meantime, there was always figuring out a post for Hidden Origins and that lunch with his 'older brother', Kiegn. But those were all jumbled up in sleepy, morning thoughts: he knew he was supposed to get up at 9:30, but he slept a few more times. And then when it reached 10:40, he tried to get up again. But he fell asleep, or at least, that's what Temmo thought he did.

A sudden noise blasted Temmo up from the bed, but it wasn't the alarm clock. Everything was at first familiar: that's how he always felt when waking up. He could imagine that he was in his room, on the comfortable bed as always, curling up against those plush blue covers. Then reality would always set in, and he'd figure out where he really was.

This time, he realized that he wasn't curled up against plush blue covers.

In fact, this wasn't his room at all: too large, too fancy and sophisticated to be that familiar childhood room. The 'Winnie-the-Pooh' poster that lined the walls was replaced by a tan paintjob along the walls, the various vehicle posters and 'pinups' that were placed on top of the Winnie poster-stripe replaced with interact paintings and pictures. A smaller one sat above a fireplace where his old room had a closet, picturing a smiling couple. They looked innocent in the photo, simply enjoying each other.

Temmo might've taken more time to enjoy it if he hadn't recognized that the couple was Ray and Albert.

Suddenly, this realization came in: he wasn't in his home, waiting to get up and shower so that he could get ready to go see Kiegn. He was somehow in the Three Tails Apartment, and from there, in Bielefeld. Or at least, what he thought was Bielefeld when he threw the covers off of him and scrambled to one of the Bedroom windows. Yes, Bielefeld: exactly how he'd imagined it, which was strange. He'd always assumed that it would look different, since it was Cer and Swith's world.

Wait: Cer and Swith, were they here? And furthermore, where was Ray and Albert? Jacob? No, not NA-Jacob, but the other one. He began to pace around the room, his palms burying his face as he tried to wake up. The worry about his family not being here, his entire routine being gone, took second place: the shock needed to leave first.

But instantly what came next was the realization that this was Bielefeld, and this was the Three Tails: that meant that there was everything that he'd written the place out as having. A smile crept up Temmo's cheeks as began to set his walk towards the door out into the hallways. Opening it up, it revealed the Three Tails as being just how he'd pictured (you didn't really remember places you'd never been, did you?).

"...Now, this is...", he started to mumble to himself, but he didn't vocally finish the sentence: instead, he completed it in his mind. Crazy, awesome, mischievous, insane. He couldn't really decide on a response, so he left the thought behind as he moved towards the Armory. His bare feet felt good against the fabric on the floor, perhaps a little bit unnaturally so. But all that left as he placed his hand against the handle.

It was steel, or at least some kind of metal: Temmo had just figured that the armory would be externally covered in a fire-resistant metal to steam away fires, but he'd never really taken the time to figure anything out extensively. Nor had he taken the time to figure out the combination to the keypad that locked the room, but it happened to look just like the one that his own safe at home had. At home, the thought popped in. He pushed it back and instead put in the combo he remembered for his home safe. It gave a double-beep, signalling that it'd been opened. Finally, he pressed down on the door handle, heard the mechanism triggering, and pushed the weighty door open...

....The walls were bare. Even the various identification cards for each of the weapons, the small bars that held each of them up, the crates and boxes for armor and ammunition: they were all gone. There was nothing in here, except for the table and office chairs in the center. Temmo felt his heart fall through his stomach and straight out of his ass: was everything here like this?

He left the room behind and started towards the kitchen: at least the kitchen looked to be fully stocked, with dirty dishes resting in the sink and a few bottles of wine sitting out on the counter. A pang came in telling him to try the alcohol, but Temmo decided against it: he wasn't that depressed about suddenly waking up in a foreign land from his writings.

Of course, the chills that beckoned along his bare legs told him that he was still dressed in his clothes from the previous night. The night when he was back home, when he'd taken his evening shower and dried off, to go to bed in his own-...

"Gorram it Temmo, quit doing this to ya'self," he spoke out again, slightly louder this time. The voice he spoke in carried a very minor lisp with his pronunciation of 's', and it was a rather northern Oregon tongue. Perhaps with slight Finnish influence, but he'd never picked up the accent from his times there. The wonder if there was a Finland in this universe occurred briefly as he started to form up a plan.

First, he had to take a shower: his hair was probably matted from having slept with his head on a pillow, and it would certainly help him wake up. There wasn't a clock telling him the time, but he figured it was likely morning or noon by the state of the lighting. Temmo made his way over to the bathroom right next to the kitchen and dining area: a quick once-over of the living room told him that there really wasn't any one of the characters here. The door to Jacob's room had been opened, but there wasn't anyone in there. Odd.

The bathroom mirror revealed his appearance. He was slightly along the stocky-side, having never really been a very light person. He was big-boned even as a child, but he'd also evened it out slightly with weight gain. 5'7" and 185 lbs. was certainly on the overweight side, but it generally went towards his legs and somewhat towards his arms: lifting up his grey t-shirt with visual depictions of tropical beaches in a dull-aqua tint showed a slight curving around his mid-torso.

Temmo had always thought that he made an odd combination of things, perhaps even physically: his face was perhaps slightly mousey in the mirror, with his front two upper teeth showing lightly if he'd open his mouth up to talk. Some of his female friends had called it cute, if that meant anything: never got comments like that from guys, except maybe the occasional gay. Weren't too many back home.

Sliding off the grey shirt and black nylon briefs, he sighed at how his hair'd been matted down: it may have been short-cropped, but it had a tendency to do whatever the hell it wanted. The closet he could ever come to controlling it was patting it down in the direction he wanted, which still depended on how it settled after he showered. A quick finish of a few flexes to flash his 'muscles' in the mirror, and a (relieving) giggle that took away some of the worry led to him turning the water in the shower on.

The shower was different than the one at home, but it worked all the same. He didn't really have the desire to shave at all, just to clean off: besides, he felt a little bit wrong using the shower. It was like he was in someone else's home, completely uninvited. Thus, Temmo made the shower quick and stepped out at the same pace. There weren't really a lot of towels, since Albert and Ray both made vast use of dryers. But at least the dryers happened to work decently well at doing what their name suggested.

His hair now in the position he wanted, his hazel eyes opened up clearly, Temmo took one last glance over himself in the mirror. He always looked fine in the mirror, but he did hate that whenever he took a picture it seemed to amplify out the lines on his forehead to make him look far more angry than intended. Smiles never worked either: it was like cameras hated him, but mirrors and the real world were fine. The Real World. Is that here?

Of course, clothes took prime directive: a look over Ray's closet revealed clothes that were a size too big for him, or at least too tall. Ray was 6'0", Temmo was 5'7": not a good combination for clothing choices. Albert had some slightly better ones in terms of height, but they were a bit more thin than what he wanted. Besides, Albert was NA's character, right? Couldn't just take his clothes.

After some time, he sorted himself out with some of Ray's clothes: most of them were dress clothes that Temmo'd always wanted to have, but there were a few different casual pieces. A white, short-sleeved button-up shirt was one of the first that actually fit him from the dress section; grey cargos were stolen over from Albert, a pair thankfully in-range.

The whole time, he couldn't shake the feeling of awkwardness that this all gave off. Putting on someone else's clothes was weird enough, but rifling through their closets to actively steal things? Hell, he felt weird enough stealing underwear. Better not be arrested for this.

Finally, though, he exited the apartment with a pair of keys in his pocket. Fine black boots, Ray's black 'n silver dragon tie (Temmo honestly thought that it was somewhat ugly, and wished desperately for his 'blue roses'), and the classic black-pinstripe vest/grey coat combination that was honestly still a size or two larger than what he wanted: they sagged down somewhat below his beltline.

The hallway revealed everything from his own perception of the Apartment Building, but at least the stairwell's location made sense: he figured he could stand the walk, and unintentionally avoided Jacob by missing the elevator. He wondered about checking every single floor, but the lobby felt like a good idea: where else could the mysterious ringing have come from?

---

Seeing everyone gathered together in the lobby, as he entered in, was a strange experience: he recognized Bran, Cer, and Swith from photos that he remembered of them all. Sod, he didn't even recognize some of these people: part of his mind was concerned about having barely anything in his pockets, another part on how the clothes all felt slightly off (who in their right flappin' mind steals a half-assed morning suit from a closet?), and the last one on who the rude as shit Indian man was.

Well, he knew it was Night, but he was every so slightly intimidated by him: his figure as a person matched his personality online. Monfrox was certainly that man who Autrice just hugged; couldn't he know what everyone's real names were, so that he didn't have to worry about all this screen-name crap?

"...I um, I agree with Night here. Well-....No, sorry, not really." Real great diplomatic skills. Can't you learn how to talk like a normal human being around people from the internet? You can see their faces this time. "Anyways, I'm Eru. Just thought that was relevant to place out there." He waved his hand around briefly, trying to signify his entrance. The excitement over Night, however, seemed to overtake it. Speak louder, you dingus.

[ApertureScienceInc]

PXM moved silently down the stairs towards the noise he heard. Cautiously, he poked his head into the lobby from the stairwell. Upon hearing voices, he quickly withdrew from sight. He recognized Swith, Bran and Cer from their pictures. Even though he was absolutely terrible at recognizing people. He prefered waiting in the stairwell and observing.

Then a feeling he had felt before came to him. Breathing through his nose became more difficult. He silently cursed his allergies and poked his head in once more to spot a tissue box.

[Fvaarniimar]

Fvaar, shivering, rolled over, hand scraping against the rough wall. The surprising texture- inconsistent both with the painted plaster of her room and the lack of walls in her dream- proved jarring enough, combined with the lack of blankets, to wake the girl. She cracked an eye open and pressed the bottom right button on her watch. Quite early in the morning. My timer should- wait, no, it's the weekend and I didn't set it. Sleepily, she groped around for a blanket. Must've kicked it off the bed again. Fvaar reached down, hitting the floor almost immediately. Wait, that can't be right. Not only was it more than two feet too high, the surface was smooth and have slightly when touched. The carpet of her own room was neither if these. She touched the wall again, this time consciously. Brick.

The girl stood. Noticing some dampness, she groaned. Of course this would be when Mother Nature decided to deliver her "monthly gift." Smooth plasticky floor. Brick wall. No covers on the bed. Frankly, that sounded like Nick's room- ridiculous as that was- or wasn't. After all, things less strange by only an order or two of magnitude had happened

Well, there was one way to know for sure. Fvaar wriggled around until she found a side of the bed which wasn't near a wall, and stepped off. Yep. Probably six inches. The door- with its pull ring and bolt at about seven inches off of the ground- would prove it, one way or another. After about three largish steps, Fvaar's hand hit wood. She knelt, pawing around until she felt the fixtures in question. Shit. It's real! I'm really here! Unfortunately, that meant that there weren't any light switches around, and the girl, alien to this world, didn't feel like opening the door to the apartment yet, even just to let in some light. Oh, well. Maybe she'd try to meditate a bit.

---

Fvaar heard a harsh knock.
"Hang on! Umm... Who's there?" If I am in Bielefield somehow... Maybe the others are here, and if not it could be a... character. Crap. Maybe I should have meowed. After an attempt in her preteen years to 'learn' cat, Fvaar could do a passable meow; it had, on occasion, fooled her mother. Then again...It's not like I'm going to be able to fool anyone into believing that I'm Nick.

I need pants or a skirt or something. Fvaar reached into the alcove which served as Nick's bedroom, and obtained a serviceable quilt and- she frowned- how did my glasses get here?. Well, they certainly would help. Quickly wrapping the quilt around her waist and rolling it so that it would stay up, the girl rushed back to the door, hesitated slightly, lifted the bolt, and then stood to turn the knob which existed for the convenience of human guests.

"Um... Hi?" Her voice was nervous, and wavered slightly.

[Giovenith]

Screaming, but not tortured screaming, more like... delighted. It was disarming at first, but Serina was still in a foreign(ish) place, and wasn't too keen on dropping her guard just yet. That was the first step on the path to being brainwashed by... a cult? There were many people, who all seemed just dandy by the whole seen, so it MUST have been a cult. It was a very good thing the 17 year old had always had a knack for being quiet and going unnoticed. They all chittered this way and that, and she felt queezy at their casualness at having supposedly kidnapped a young girl.

Still.

Serina had lurked before and looked at the pictures of her fellow PL players before, but she was honestly quite bad at faces and relied on things like hair to tell people apart (she had once watched an episode of "Criminal Minds" where they went to an army boot camp where everyone had the same hair cut, and had NO CLUE what was going on), and wasn't sure how to react. It seemed out of imagination that other people who liked the other players would all be in some warehouse designed to look like the Building. Regardless, there was no simply sneaking out at this point. She weighed 97 lbs, and was a stick, and honestly didn't want to try to fight her way out. Plan C.

"I swear to God, I'll come back and haunt every last one of you if you kill me!" she suddenly stood up and shouted with as much intimidation as she could muster, which wasn't much. "I'll come back! I'll set your property aflame! I'll frame you for things! I'll force demons to help me! I'll be the worst fucking ghost you ever dealt with!"

Yeah, that would totally work.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Wow that few. Thought there would be a bit more," she said, rubbing the back of her head. She looked at Trice. "Yeah, I woke up in Kale's room. Very clean. No dirty clothes at all. Well, no clothes in general. It's the reason why I'm still in my PJ's." She giggled a bit.

"Yeah, that's the downside of writing a character that prefers to go naked," Trice giggled. Her laughter was a low, warm purr. Trice's voice belonged on a larger person, and was quite contrary to her diminutive size. She'd inherited it from her mother; her father often referred to it as a "whiskey alto". Yet it was a voice many of the players were used to. She'd done a few YouTube videos for them.

"I'm wondering how many others are lurking or just waking up and-oh-my-god-it's-Night!" Who else could turn the air blue with such refined poise?

Trice found herself conflicted. It was Night yet Night looked imposing in his suit. She strove to keep him in "NS" category rather than "those cranky Indians at work" category.

She hemmed and hawed over some appropriate way to greet him and settled on an amalgamation of all ideas at once. "Namaste. I owe you a post in EH. HI!" And with that, she tossed aside the preconceived "surly coworker" label and hugged him.

Khan stared at this white woman as though she was some sort of alien. With some rare exceptions, Khan did not do this thing called "hugging". He considered it a foreign Western concept, and something to be regarded with suspicion and rare occasions. He searched through his memory for who this person was.

Let's see, Pittsburgh accent? Nat was a male. Khan was fairly sure of that. And post in EH? Oh. Swith. That explained it. He hugged back, of a sort. If hug back could be called "arms moving slightly from their usual position of remaining iron-fixed at his sides". He then pulled away from the hug. "So, we're in PL then? Benfield. That's the name of the city, right?" Khan had never really figured out to properly spell the city's name. English was a bloody stupid language anyway, and the words never made sense.

He looked around at the group, finding them remarkably young. He was tolerant of this. He considered people in general, young and old, to be an annoyance. And in India, young people had been given a great deal of freedom, so he typically considered them at the same level as adults. Unless, of course, it didn't suit him to do so.

The Indian cleared his throat. "Alright now. What's the time in the city? Early morn? I'd like to have some breakfast soon. Perhaps hit the gym, I'd like to keep practising my taekwondo." His face was furrowed in a permanent frown as it was, but it turned slightly lighter as he gave a smile of sorts. "Ah. If I'm here, I'm away from work. That'll be odd to adjust to." he muttered, now half speaking to himself. "Eh, kya ker re?" he asked himself rhetorically, straightening his bloody tie. It had gotten slightly ruffled in Swith's hug. "Alright, you all can call me Khan if you like." he said, his eyes scanning everyone. "Tumare nam?" he unconsciously switched to Hindi. He rolled his eyes upon realising he had done so, and repeated the request in English. "Your names?"